


Close Encounter

by JohnAmendAll



Category: Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Awesome Jean Rock, Awesome Samantha Briggs, Gen, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-26
Updated: 2012-09-26
Packaged: 2017-11-15 03:04:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnAmendAll/pseuds/JohnAmendAll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Samantha Briggs and Jean Rock (from 'The Faceless Ones') investigate rumours of an unidentified flying object.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you want a visual reference for Jean and Sam, [here they are](http://www.bbc.co.uk/doctorwho/classic/photonovels/faceless/six/800/19.html). Jean's the blonde.

"I still can't believe you're doing this," Brian Briggs said. He shoved the bulky canvas backpack into the back seat of the Mini, the boot already being full. "You, going on a camping holiday." 

His sister rolled her eyes. "Don't you start," she said. "I've had all that from Mum already. Look, it's all planned out. It'll be fine." 

"Right." He gave her jazz-patterned minidress and high heels a dubious look. "You think those clothes are all right for camping?" 

"I'll change when I get there, stupid." She delved in her handbag. "And here's a postcard so you know I've got there all right. Why don't I just give it you now to save time?" 

"That isn't funny." Brian turned to the woman seated at the wheel of the Mini. "You will look after Samantha, won't you, Miss Rock?" 

"In my experience, Samantha can take care of herself," Jean Rock replied, smiling. 

"Yeah, but she's never been camping before." 

"Then it'll be a learning experience. Samantha, are you ready?" 

Samantha climbed into the passenger seat, and slammed the door behind her. "When you are. Look, Brian, you tell Ma that Miss Rock's a responsible woman and we'll be fine. See you later." 

*

"He's right, of course," Samantha admitted, as the Mini crawled through the outer suburbs of Liverpool. "I haven't a clue about camping. I had to buy half of this stuff and borrow the rest from my mates. Why'd you decide to write to me?" 

"Because you've got experience with strange phenomena." Jean paused briefly to negotiate a roundabout. "And I had your address. Well, your brother's address, but I assumed he'd forward my letter to you if necessary." 

"Here I am, then. What's the story?" 

"Last month, the Commandant was negotiating a transport contract, for moving goods by road between our airport and– well, the details don't matter. He invited tenders from various suppliers, and had meetings with the top few candidates. As a rule, they'd bring their PAs and not have anything for them to do, so I'd have to look after them. They all asked me about what really happened last year – of course, I couldn't tell them." 

"Yeah, I had to sign the Official Secrets Act too." 

"Anyway, I gave them a watered-down version. But then, one of them told me a story of her own. She said she'd been staying with friends in North Wales recently, and one night she was out late by herself. I daresay she had her reasons. But she was walking back along the road to the village, after dark. As you get near the village, you pass a ruined castle. She saw a light come out of the castle." 

"Couldn't that be a kid with a torch?" 

Jean shook her head. "Not the way she described it. It went straight up, quite a way into the air, and then started to move about. She said it was as if it was looking for something. And it was a kind of bluish-white colour, not what you'd get from a torch. It didn't make any noise, either. In the end it went into a field some distance from the road. She waited for a bit, but she didn't see anything more." 

"Is that all?" Samantha sounded disappointed. 

"Not quite. She went to that field the next day. There was a flat patch in the grass, she said, as if there had been something heavy on top of it. The ground nearby looked disturbed, as if it had been dug up and put back. And there was a footprint. Just the one, on the edge of a puddle." 

"What sort of footprint?" 

"She drew it." Jean brought the car to a halt at a traffic light. "It was Y-shaped, with claws at the tips. She looked in every book she could find. Nothing even came close. The next day, it rained, and she thinks that would have washed the footprint away. We can't expect it to be still there after a month. That's the story." 

"You realise it could just be a couple of kids mucking about?" 

"Possibly. But I think it's worth looking into." 

Samantha folded her arms. "If I'm spending a week in a tent on some rainswept Welsh hillside, it'd just better be worth looking into." 

"Regretting your decision to come?" 

"Not a bit." 

"Good. I'm glad you agreed to come with me, Sam. Samantha. Which do you prefer?" 

"Whichever you like. Do I call you Jean?" 

"If you don't mind." 

"Jean. Jean. I suppose I'll get used to it." She looked out of the car window. Grey clouds were gathering overhead, and her bare legs were already beginning to feel cold. "I think my brother's right, you know. Going camping in weather like this. I must be mad." 

*

At Jean's insistence, they'd made an early start. The campsite she'd chosen was on the outskirts of the village, and they walked together through the periphery of scattered houses, tin sheds, and abandoned-looking yards. 

"I just hope no-one I know sees me," Samantha muttered. Clad in woolly hat, heavy jumper, jeans, and boots, she was a far cry from her usual fashionable self. But her experiences the previous evening, struggling with stiff canvas in the wind and rain while wearing a borrowed kagoule over her street clothes, had convinced her that there was something to be said for practicality. 

Jean shrugged. "Why would they? From what you've said, your friends aren't the sort of people who'd come out here." 

"Yeah, I know. But if Lisa or Sophie knew I was out here in a bobble hat, wild horses wouldn't keep them away." She glanced around. It wasn't actually raining at the moment, but the sky was grey from horizon to horizon, shrouding the mountaintops. "You reckon it's somewhere round here?" 

"I've never been here before." Jean shrugged. "We've only got Betty's story to go on. I got her to do directions and a plan: see if you can make anything of them." 

She delved in her coat, produced a folded piece of paper, and handed it to Samantha, who unfolded it. 

"I suppose this is the right road," she said dubiously. "So we ought to be looking for this castle. I dunno. How can you not see a castle?" 

"It's a ruin, remember? There may not be much left above ground." 

A little further along, the village gave out altogether. The ground on their right was given over to open fields, in some of which sheep were grazing. On their left was woodland, largely concealed from view by a dilapidated stone wall. Here and there, where the wall retained its original height, there were hints that it had originally had battlements on top, convincing both women that it must, in some fashion, be connected with the castle. 

For the next twenty minutes or so, they walked on, each turn in the road only giving access to another stretch of wall. Just as they were beginning to wonder if they'd ever reach the end of it, they came to the gateway. Doubtless, originally, this had been a grand entrance with gates and lodges, perhaps even towers; but time and the Ministry of Works had expunged all such structures, leaving just a gap in the wall and a pile of rubble. The gap was blocked by a rusting wire fence, that looked as if it had been stitched together with barbed wire from the remains of several previous fences. If there had ever been a drive beyond, the wood had swallowed it without leaving a trace. A few hundred yards into the woodland, a ruinous tower protruded above the trees. 

"That's the castle, right enough," Samantha said. 

"So the field must be somewhere on the other side of the road." Jean took the paper back. "There should be a stile on the right a little further on." 

Following the directions they'd been given, the duo quickly found the stile, walked along a footpath, passed through an open gateway, and found themselves in what they were assured was the field where the mysterious marks had been seen. 

Even if any visible traces had been present at the time, they weren't there now. Frequent rain and grazing sheep had removed any trace of disturbance to the grass, let alone the alien footprint Betty had reported seeing. 

"That's it," Jean said. "The directions don't go into any more detail." 

Samantha looked around. "Not much good, is it?" 

"Well, she was writing the directions several weeks later and several hundred miles from here. From memory. I don't think either of us could do any better." 

"She said there'd been digging. I even brought a trowel." Samantha crouched, looking at the ground. "I thought we'd at least see where that had been. We can't dig up the whole field." 

Jean folded the paper and put it away. "I've got a horrible feeling that I've wasted your time," she said. 

If she'd been expecting something along the lines of 'of course not', she was to be disappointed. 

"Yeah, you probably have. Finding your way round a field isn't as easy as a few filing cabinets, is it?" 

"No, it isn't." Jean took a few paces. "She said the footprint was on the edge of a puddle." 

Samantha stood again, looking at their surroundings. "Spoilt for choice." 

"Yes. And of course, we don't know that the puddles are in the same places now as they were then." 

"So that's no good." 

"All I can suggest is that we walk up and down the field, and see if we can spot anything." 

"Apart from wet grass and sheep droppings," Samantha said gloomily. 

*

"My back," Samantha announced, "is killing me." 

"I can imagine," Jean said, mopping her brow. She straightened up and looked around. "That cloud's getting lower." 

"Don't suppose you found anything?" 

"Nothing at all. I don't think we can do anything useful here." 

"Then we'd better check out the castle, hadn't we?" 

"I suppose we had." 

They walked back to the road, and thence to the gap in the wall. While the tangled wire fence was no doubt effective at keeping straying animals out, it was a slight obstacle to two determined humans: at the cost of a few scratches and snagged clothes, they were able to climb over it. 

"You realise we're trespassing," Jean said. 

"Is that a problem?" 

"I'll live with it." 

"Let's go, then." 

The two set out into the trees. The undergrowth was thick, and any thought of aiming for the tower was quickly replaced by the question of getting anywhere at all. Branches snatched at their clothes or tried to trip them up, and the twilight under the trees was oppressive. 

Samantha had lost track of both time and direction when she came up against the trunk of a much larger tree than any they'd encountered before. While the wood they'd been forcing their way through had been of fairly recent growth, this tree looked at least a hundred years old. 

"You know what?" she said, as Jean emerged from the underbrush behind her. "We're lost." 

"You could be right." Jean was a far cry from her usual efficient self; she was glancing from side to side uneasily, as if expecting something to jump out on her. There was a red mark on her cheek, where a branch had swung back unexpectedly and hit her in the face. "Could we retrace our footsteps?" 

"I don't see how. All this wood looks the same." 

"Except for this tree." Jean looked up. "It's quite tall. Perhaps if we climbed it we could see where we were." 

"All right. Climb it." 

The tree had no branches in reach, so Jean reluctantly tried to grasp the tree trunk and shin up it. She made it about three inches off the ground before slipping down again. 

"Sorry," she said. "I've never climbed a tree in my life." 

"Me neither." Samantha inspected the tree. "Isn't there something about what side the moss grows on?" 

"I think that means it's north. But I can't relate that to where the road or the castle are." Abruptly, she sat down on a root, as if the stress of not being in control of their situation had overcome her. "Sam, I'm sorry, but I don't know what we do now." 

"Not sitting about and crying like a little girl'd be a start." 

"I know." Jean visibly tried to pull herself together. "I just feel so–" 

She broke off suddenly. 

"Is that another one of those big trees over there?" she said, pointing. 

Samantha peered through the undergrowth in the indicated direction. 

"Yeah," she said. "Looks like it." 

"Let's head for it. Either it'll take us to the castle, or back to the gate." 

"How d'you make that out, then?" 

"These trees are bigger, and older. They must have been here before all this woodland grew. They must have been planted on purpose." 

"So?" 

"We're somewhere between the main gate and the castle. I think the odds are good that these trees were planted on either side of the drive, so if we follow them we'll be walking along it." 

"That's a complete guess." 

"Better than nothing, though." 

Samantha nodded. "We've got nothing else to try." 

*

By the time they'd passed the last tree, the castle itself was visible through the undergrowth, an irregular, ivy-clad lump. The tower they'd seen earlier rose from a maze of walls, some stone, some brick, all semi-ruinous. Close to, it was apparent that the 'castle' had never been a fortress; rather, it had been a Victorian mansion, its mediaeval appearance the whim of some nineteenth-century eccentric. 

Cautiously, the pair climbed through a gaping hole that looked as if it had once been a bay window. On the inside, the vegetation was thinner and the daylight brighter. The inner walls were brick, their surface blackened and cracked as if by intense heat; but the plants crawling over them showed no signs of damage. 

"This building must have burned down," Jean said, keeping her voice low. "None of this fire damage is recent." 

They picked their way through the remains of the castle, aiming for where the daylight was brightest and the vegetation thinnest. Underfoot, the ground was a mass of fallen stones and bricks, which sometimes shifted disconcertingly under their feet. Those walls which hadn't already collapsed leaned precariously, looking ready to fall on them at the slightest provocation. 

"I don't think anyone's been here for years," Samantha said, as they edged round a water-filled pit, its fringes slippery with algae. "Except animals." 

Before another five minutes had passed, she was proved wrong. 


	2. Chapter 2

At the back of the ruined 'castle' was a courtyard, whose concrete surface peeped through the moss and leaves in places. On its far side, the buildings looked relatively intact, apart from the lack of glass in their windows. Jean and Samantha, having emerged from the main structure, crossed to the nearest range and peered through one of the empty frames. 

"Stay right there!" a voice barked. 

Both women jumped and spun round. A man had appeared on the far side of the courtyard, presumably from one of the less-ruinous buildings. He was wearing a drab green uniform, with sergeant's stripes on the sleeves. 

"What are you two doing here?" he demanded, crossing the courtyard to where they were standing. 

"We're birdwatchers," Jean said, not sounding very convincing even to herself. 

"Not a lot of birds here," the sergeant said. He was a muscular, middle-aged man, with cropped greying hair under his beret. "And even if there was a bleedin' golden eagle in every bleedin' tree, you've still got no right to be here." 

"We got lost in the woods," Samantha mumbled. 

"Woods which you shouldn't have been wandering about in anyway. Davies! Conran!" 

Two more soldiers emerged from one of the buildings. The sergeant waved them over. 

"Escort these two civilians off the premises," he told them. "And make sure they don't try to sneak back in." He turned back to Jean and Samantha. "That building's dangerous. If you'd slipped or tripped, you could be lying there with a broken leg, and serve you right. And if I ever catch either of you here again, you'll be wishing you got off with just that." 

Under his watchful eye, the two women suffered themselves to be marched away. The soldiers led them further in the direction they'd been heading, past more outbuildings that seemed to have survived the fire intact. An area of vegetation had been recently cleared here, and a number of military vehicles were parked in two neat rows. 

Once they'd passed the vehicles, the pair were marched down a short drive. At the far end a gate gave access to a public road. Again, this appeared to have been installed very recently. 

"Which way is it to the village?" Jean asked. 

One of the soldiers pointed, but didn't speak. 

"Thanks," Samantha said. "Service with a smile, eh?" 

*

This entrance to the castle site seemed to be a lot closer to the village than the one they'd found before. Within five minutes Samantha and Jean were sitting in the local cafe reviving themselves with soup and sandwiches. 

"I nearly had a heart attack when he shouted at us," Jean said. 

"And I nearly wet my kecks," Samantha admitted. "So what's a bunch of soldiers doing up there?" 

"I think it must be for the same reason as us. Maybe Betty wasn't the only person who saw the lights. But if there are soldiers all over the place we won't be able to do much." 

"Not like we were doing much anyway." 

"That's true. I thought we were so well prepared, and it turns out I've overlooked all sorts of important stuff." 

"Like what?" 

"Binoculars, for one. We could watch from a safe distance and find out what those soldiers are up to." 

"In this weather, what you'd see is low cloud and nothing else." Samantha gestured at the window. "It's getting so low out there now it'd be round our ankles. Wonder how long those soldiers have been here?" 

"I suppose we could ask around." Jean glanced at the lad manning the cash register. "He's probably a local. Maybe if one of us chatted to him we could find out a bit more." 

"I'll do that," Samantha said firmly. 

"Yes, he's nice-looking boy, isn't he?" 

Samantha pulled her bobble hat off and shook out her hair. 

"Wish I wasn't wearing scruffies," she said. "How am I supposed to be a sophisticated city girl in my brother's old jeans and a jumper it looks like I've nicked off Captain Birdseye?" 

"If you'd rather I did the talking–" 

"Hang on, I didn't say that. You'd scare him. Posh bird like you? He'd run a mile. Anyway, you're– I mean, he'd think you're old." 

"I'm thirty-one," Jean said, not sure whether to be amused or annoyed. 

"Well-preserved, then," Samantha replied, with a grin. "Anyway, that's settled. I'll go and chat him up." 

"I'm sure you'll find that a terrible imposition. Just as long as you don't forget why we're here." 

Samantha rose to her feet. "Don't worry, chuck. I'm not as daft as I look." 

"Could have fooled me." 

"Really?" Samantha gave her another grin. "Perhaps I _did_." 

*

In the event, it wasn't long before Samantha beckoned Jean over to the cash desk. 

"Jean, this is Hugh," she said. 

"Pleased to meet you." If Jean had been five or ten years younger, she'd have found him dangerously attractive. Probably as well that she was older and wiser now. 

"Hugh, Jean's looking into this thing with me," Samantha continued. "Can you tell her what you told me?" 

"Well, like I said, people have been seeing the lights in the sky for a few weeks, now," Hugh began. "No-one talked about them at first. Then sheep started going missing. Not many, just the odd one from time to time, but always in a field near the castle. Dai Evans said he didn't care who it was, he wasn't going to have them steal his sheep, and he went up to the castle to give them what for. No-one's seen him since. Or Harry Jones, or–" his voice shook slightly "–or Blodwen Griffith." 

"Was she a close friend?" Jean asked. She could guess at the answer. 

Hugh nodded, seemingly not trusting himself to speak on that subject. "Anyway, people reported them missing to the police. Someone must have got to hear of it, because a fortnight ago all these soldiers turned up in jeeps. They set up in the castle." He shrugged. "They've been there ever since. They don't let anyone in. But they don't seem to have vanished or anything." 

"Are the lights still happening?" Samantha said. 

"Oh, yes. Not regularly, but every two or three days. They don't go far from the Castle, but no-one goes out on their own at night. Not since Harry did. They found his dog wandering loose in the road the next morning, but he'd vanished into thin air." 

"That's quite a story," Jean said. "When was the last time anyone saw the lights?" 

"Day before yesterday." 

"So there's a good chance they'd be in action tonight?" 

Hugh looked horrified at the thought. "Don't even think of doing it. You'd just disappear like the others. It'd be madness." 

"We'll think about it," Samantha said. A stubborn expression had settled on her features. Jean could guess why. If you told Samantha not to stick her fingers in an electric socket, she'd probably make a point of doing it just to prove that she didn't take orders from anybody. 

"Well, if you do find anything out about Blodwen – about any of the missing people – come and let me know at once." 

"Where d'you live?" 

"At my mother's house." He flushed slightly. "Number 23, across the road." 

"Thanks." Samantha flashed him a smile. "I'll remember that. Definitely." 

*

For what was left of the afternoon, it rained, and Jean and Samantha spent most of their time huddled in a bus shelter, with the cloud outside so low that Jean fancied she could reach out and touch it. If it had continued to rain, she had planned to suggest that they postpone operations; but shortly after the sun had dipped below the horizon, the last drops fell. 

"Looks like we're on for tonight," Samantha said. "You sure you're up for this?" 

If Jean had been on her own, she'd have freely admitted that she wasn't sure. It was obvious that whatever the situation was, it was in the hands of people far more qualified to deal with the problem than her or Samantha. But perhaps from the feeling that she'd started and didn't want to stop, perhaps because of what Hugh had told them, perhaps just for the unique thrill of doing something she knew might get her into trouble, she said, simply, "Yes." 


	3. Chapter 3

After a hasty meal, they set out once more along the road they'd taken that morning, the wall now dark and looming on their left. They had no way to be sure that the lights would appear, or that they'd show up on this side of the castle rather than the other, but that would be true whichever road they'd decided to take. 

By the time they reached the gap in the wall where the castle gates had been, it was so dark that the woodland appeared only as a vague difference in the texture of the shadows. Jean had a small torch, enough to light their way, but they'd only dared use it for seconds at a time: whenever it was on, Samantha felt as if she was under the glare of kilowatt spotlights, visible to unfriendly eyes in all directions. 

Having reached the gateway, they waited on the far side of the road; standing too near the gap tended to encourage nightmarish fears about what might creep out. Around them, the night grew colder and darker. Samantha made several attempts at conversation, but they all died out after a few whispered sentences. Discussion of ordinary, everyday things like work or friends seemed out of place here; and Jean's taste in music proved to be so different from her own that there was no hope of finding common ground there. 

"I wonder when we should call it a night," Jean said. 

"You what?" 

"We can't stay up all night waiting for something to happen. Otherwise we'll be so sleepy tomorrow that if it happens then instead we'll miss it." 

"I can stay up all night, no problem. Done it loads of times." 

"Yes, so did I, when I was your age, but that was a long time ago." 

"Stop making yourself out to be a little old lady. There's nothing wrong with you." 

"You can't make problems go away just by denying they exist, Sam." 

"Works a lot of the time– hang on!" 

They both looked up, as a column of blue-white light rose into the air, a little to one side of where the ruined castle tower stood. 

"Come on, come on," Samantha muttered. "This way." 

The column seemed to agree. Moving quickly, it skimmed across the woodland, crossed the road a couple of hundred yards beyond them, and sank into a field some way from the road. 

"I think we've hit the bullseye," Jean said. 

"Yeah, couldn't be better. Come on, let's take a look." 

"Are you sure?" 

Somehow, the nervous tone in Jean's voice only served to increase Samantha's resolve. 

"I'm not scared of anything," she lied, and set off. In the dark the fields seemed to have become a maze of hedges and walls, but their goal was clear: although the bright light had gone out, lesser lights were flitting about at head height, and the occasional scrape of a shovel could be heard. 

When they were a couple of fields away, one of the lights suddenly shone in their direction. 

"Who goes there?" a voice shouted. "Intruders!" 

There was an odd pause, and then another voice said "Kill." It didn't sound like a military order, but like a random word ripped from a sentence. 

"What the–" Samantha began. Before she could say any more, someone pushed her from behind, hard, and she tumbled forward, sprawling prone on the ground. But she kept her mouth shut, because she'd heard something else: the unmistakeable crack of a rifle. 

Samantha looked to her left. Jean was lying beside her, her face a pale blur in the darkness. 

"They're shooting at us!" Samantha whispered, her heart swelling with outrage. "They can't do that! There's got to be a law against it." 

"I don't think this lot care much about laws," Jean whispered back. "We've got to get away somehow." 

"Any ideas?" 

"Well, we're wearing dark clothes so they probably won't see us if we keep our heads down. We'll have to crawl. Keep as close to the line of the wall as possible." 

"But that isn't the way back to the road." 

"No, I don't think we can risk the road. Not until we're a good bit further away." 

"Right. Lead on, then." 

Their progress was nerve-rackingly slow. Sounds of marching feet or of bodies forcing their way through vegetation could constantly be heard, but it was impossible to tell how close or how far away they were. Once or twice Samantha would grab Jean's hand, or the other way round, and the two would lie flat and freeze, not moving until the presumed danger had passed. 

"I think we should be far enough away by now," Jean eventually whispered. 

She rose to her feet. A little later, not having heard any gunshots, Samantha followed suit. Under the perpetual cloudbank, the night was dark, but the distant lights of the village gave a point to aim for. 

They set off, but before they'd got halfway across the field, Samantha had come to a halt. 

"This doesn't feel right," she said. 

"What doesn't? Whatever's going on round here?" 

"No, running away like this. What're we gonna do, just go back to our tent and forget everything? 'Cos we'll never dare to come back here again." 

"You mean you want to go back there now." 

"I don't see we've got any choice in the matter," Samantha said. "There's someone there that thinks it's a good idea to shoot at anything that moves. And it isn't just those squaddies from this morning, or they'd have shot us there and then." 

"I can't argue with that." 

"Did you see their faces?" 

Jean shook her head. "Only a glimpse. Then I had to duck down in case they saw us." 

"Same here. Only I thought they were glowing. Not much, just a bit sort of yellowish. You wouldn't see it in daylight." 

"Yes, I know what you mean. I wasn't sure if I was imagining it." 

"I don't think you–" Samantha broke off, suddenly aware that she could see Jean's face in the dark. This wasn't any inner yellow luminescence, though. Cold blue-white light was illuminating her face, and the rest of her body, and the field they stood in. 

"Jean?" Samantha looked round, already knowing the answer. "What's that light?" 

Jean didn't need to answer. The column of bluish light was gliding silently across the fields, approaching them from the field they'd been trying to reach before. At its top was a vague black shape. It was heading directly for them, like a hound on the scent. It had to be some kind of searchlight, Samantha realised. But whatever it was shining from couldn't be a helicopter. If it had been, there was no way they wouldn't have heard it. 

Jean grabbed Samantha's arm. 

"We've got to split up," she said. "It can't follow both of us. See you back at the campsite." 

She dashed off into the darkness. Samantha picked a direction at random and did likewise. She couldn't help looking back over her shoulder, though, trying to catch a glimpse of the light, to see if she was the one it was chasing. 

The next thing she knew, the ground had disappeared from under her feet and she was falling, landing face-down in something cold and slimy. The fall winded her, and she struggled to her feet, gasping for breath, her clothes heavy with what, if she was lucky, was mud and not something worse. On either side of her she felt earth banks, and saw them dimly outlined above her head by the pale radiance: she must have tumbled into a ditch. 

By standing on tiptoe, she could just see over the edge of the ditch. The column of light was now stationary, on the far side of the field, with a motionless figure in it. Even at this distance, Samantha could recognise Jean, her face unnaturally pale in the light, holding her hands up as if trying to push the approaching horror away, but unable to move a muscle. The column was shrinking in height all the time, as whatever vehicle it was shining from descended on her. Transfixed, Samantha watched. The shadowy, angular shape dropped noiselessly on top of Jean, swallowing her from her head down. For a fraction of a second, nothing could be seen; then the column of light, now empty, reappeared as the vehicle rose into the air and glided away in the direction of the castle at considerable speed. 

Samantha watched until the light sank out of view, presumably into the castle or its surroundings. Then she turned her attention to the comparatively minor problem of extricating herself, in the renewed darkness, from a muddy ditch as deep as she was tall. However cold, wet and dirty her situation, she couldn't shift the thought that things were a lot worse for Jean. 

"I'll find you," she muttered. "Wherever they've taken you. I promise." 


	4. Chapter 4

Jean felt inclined to pinch herself. In the normal course of things, she'd be driving to work by now, with nothing worse to look forward to than the weekly traffic appropriations and vending machine coffee. Now, she was cold, stiff and hungry, sitting on the floor in a semicircular, windowless, doorless pink room whose walls felt slightly resilient to the touch, and which smelt of chemicals she couldn't identify. The only furniture consisted of a metallic cube, perhaps a foot on each side, hanging from the ceiling at eye level, and a perfectly recognisable flush toilet and a handbasin, complete with manufacturer's name, that looked as if they were later additions to the structure of the room. 

The straight wall wasn't made of the same soft, pink material as the curved one and the floor. It was a single, massive slab of black glass. When she'd woken she'd given it a few experimental kicks, but to no avail. Jean had ended up sitting opposite it, looking at her reflected image. She looked dishevelled, pale, and more frightened than she'd expected. In that room, she was out of place, even more so than the plumbing fixtures. 

How long she sat there, alternately staring at her reflection and trying not to meet its gaze, she wasn't sure. She was still wearing her wristwatch, but she avoided looking at it, too, for reasons she couldn't sensibly explain to herself. But just as she'd broken eye contact with her mirror image for the latest time, the glass wall suddenly became transparent. 

On the far side was a... creature, though if it hadn't moved it might have passed for an art installation. In colour it was bright yellow and shiny, irrelevantly reminding Jean of a gobstopper. The shape was vaguely humanoid, with a head, torso, and limbs; but very different in the details. The head was blank, save for four compound eyes, set at equal intervals round its circumference. Lower down, there were four arms, again at equal intervals, spindly, with two elbows each, ending in three clawed fingers. There were four legs, too, short and stumpy, with Y-shaped feet exactly corresponding to Betty's description of the footprint she'd seen. The creature's torso was covered by a reddish mesh, presumably a garment. 

Jean had jumped to her feet when the glass went transparent. Now, her back hard against the back wall of the compartment, she forced herself to look at the alien. It was turning its head this way and that, letting three of its four eyes get a good look at her. She wondered what it made of her. 

"Good morning," she said, and blushed. What were you supposed to say to something like that? 

The creature brought two of its arms in front of it. In one clawed hand it was holding a pinkish cylinder studded with controls, which it manipulated with the other. Abruptly, words could be heard – individual words, each spoken in a different voice and with different intonation. 

"You – ours – if – obey – work – live – if – flee – die." 

"Work?" Jean asked. "What kind of work?" 

"Work," the voice replied, after a pause. "Obey." 

One side of the cube slid up. Inside was a metal bowl, full of unappetising- looking grey pellets, and a spoon. 

"Food," the mechanical voice said. "Adapted – human – eat." 

Jean picked up the bowl and the spoon. The whole thing felt bizarre, like a twisted parody of a normal breakfast. 

"Why should I eat this?" she asked. 

"Food – if – not – eat – die." 

"But it might be poisonous to me." 

"Adapted – human – all – eat – none – die." 

All? None? 

"You mean there are other people here?" she asked. "Those people who went missing from the village?" 

There was no answer. The alien merely watched her. The implication was clear. Show us you trust us. 

She didn't, but she had no choice. 

Slowly, she picked up a single pellet and put it in her mouth. It didn't taste bad. Rather nice, in fact. And she was suddenly aware that it had been a long time since she'd eaten, and she was very hungry. 

It took her a remarkably short time to finish the bowl. 

"You – work – now," the alien said. 

"Of course." Jean gave it her best professional smile. "What should I do?" 

"Sort – minerals – follow." 

The glass panel sparkled briefly and was gone. Jean walked briskly through where it had been, feeling obedient, enthusiastic, keen to start work, and perhaps just a touch light-headed. 

The creature led Jean through brightly-lit corridors, through a hatchway, down a ramp, and out into the open air, clambering over a mass of fallen trees. Jean looked back. The hatch was in the side of an angular machine, mottled green in colour, that blended into the scenery so well that even from a few yards away it was difficult to work out where it ended and the woodland began. She turned back and concentrated on climbing from one log to the next. These trees must have been knocked over when the machine had first landed. But that was beside the point. She'd been told to follow. It wouldn't do to let herself be left behind. 

Once out of the clearing, the creature led her along a clear path through the woodland to one of the more intact outbuildings at the back of the castle. Inside, a long wooden tray ran the length of the room, heaped with pebbles, clumps of earth, rocks, bones, pieces of slate waste. Standing around it were three other people – two men, who might have been farmers or shepherds, and a girl who looked no older than eighteen. The clothes of all three looked worn and faded, but the people themselves seemed cheerful enough. 

"New – worker," the creature's translator box said. "Teach." 

The people exchanged glances, and the girl hurried up to Jean. 

"I'll show you what to do," she said enthusiastically. "You'll enjoy it." 

*

Though Jean certainly did enjoy the hard labour of breaking rocks, grinding them up, and sifting the resulting debris for the tiny particles that she'd been ordered to find, she had to take breaks from time to time, for the usual reasons. It was after one such break, as she emerged from the lavatory block – another hut, but with running water and proper drainage – that a none-too-clean hand covered her mouth before she could shout, and she was dragged round to the back of the hut. 

"Sorry about that," said one of her abductors. "Are you okay?" 

There were two of them, a man and a woman, both younger than her, both with dirty faces and with cobwebs in their hair. The girl's clothes were covered with dried mud. Jean tried to remember who they were. They were familiar, somehow, but she couldn't place the details. 

"I'm sure I know you," she said. "Don't I?" 

The girl stared at her in alarm. 

"Jean," she said. "It's me. Samantha. Don't you remember?" 

"Samantha. Yes, I think I do. But you shouldn't be here. This building isn't safe. You could fall and break your leg." 

"She's away with the fairies," Samantha opined. 

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean." 

"Jean, what's going on here?" 

"It's all perfectly straightforward. I'm panning for minerals for... for..." Jean cast about in her mind. "For the people I work for." 

"What are they like?" the young man asked, leaning forward and taking her hand in his. 

"Yellow," Jean heard herself say, dreamily. "Tall. Four eyes, four arms, four legs, all shiny." 

"Jean! Jean!" She felt herself being shaken. "You've got to come with us, now." 

"Oh, no. That won't do at all. I've got to grade the minerals. It's very important." 

"Is that what everyone does?" 

"Everyone's got their own job to do. But they're all important. I can't be away too long." 

"Listen!" That was Samantha again. "You've got to come with us. Now." 

"I can't. You shouldn't be here. I should. It's essential." 

"Listen to me. Do you remember when we were at Gatwick? Don't you remember Jamie? And the Doctor? Jean, please!" 

"It's no use," the man said. "She's bewitched." 

"Jean?" It was a girl's voice calling, from somewhere near the front of the block. "Jean? Where are you? Are you all right?" 

"I've got to go," Jean said. She pulled her hand out of the young man's, but he didn't seem to notice. He was staring into space, as if he'd heard a ghost. 

"Goodbye," she said to her would-be rescuers, and hurried away, keen to get back to her work. 


	5. Chapter 5

"That was your girlfriend, wasn't it?" Samantha asked, as she and Hugh made their cautious way through the ruins. "The one who was calling for Jean." 

"Yes, that was Blodwen. I'd know her voice anywhere. Sam, do you think the same thing happened to her as your friend?" 

"Must've done, I reckon. She wouldn't sound so cheerful if she was in her right mind and a prisoner here, would she?" 

"No, I don't suppose she would." The two ducked down behind a ruined wall and waited for a patrolling soldier to move away. "And those soldiers must all be the same, too." 

"Yeah. They shot at me last night. In the dark there was a sort of glowy look to their faces. I thought Jean looked a bit yellow, too, just now." 

They were now in the remains of the castle proper, creeping through gutted ruins, testing each foothold before putting any weight on it in case it should slip and betray them. To Samantha the process was horribly slow, but to hurry risked discovery. 

"She was delirious when she was saying all that about yellow creatures with four eyes, wasn't she?" Hugh whispered. 

"You never know." Samantha tried to adopt an urbane, seen-it-all manner. "No reason why there shouldn't be aliens like that." 

"Aliens? You think there are foreigners at work here?" 

"I mean bug-eyed monsters from another planet. And before you say there's no such thing, there is. I've met 'em before. So has Jean." 

Hugh nodded mutely, though his expression suggested he was humouring a lunatic. 

*

There was no further conversation until Samantha and Hugh had made their laborious way into the tangle of walls at the base of the standing tower. Half-hidden from view behind a pillar, and with its steps slippery with algae, a spiral staircase led down. Retracing their steps from earlier that morning, the two of them crept down, into dank, cobweb-hung, evil-smelling passageways. 

"I hope you know the way," Samantha whispered. 

"Hush," Hugh replied. "Sound carries here." 

Not daring to use a torch, they groped their way through the darkness until they hit on the tunnel they sought, and hurried along it as silently as they could, though despite all their efforts their footsteps echoed. Roots and cobwebs brushed against their faces, loose bricks in the floor threatened to trip them, and here and there water was dripping through the ceiling. The previous day Samantha wouldn't have dreamed of entering such a place, alone or in company, but with Jean's safety foremost in her mind she'd forced herself to. Now she was returning, empty-handed. 

The far end of the tunnel emerged in the ruins of a staircase, near another inadequately-fenced gap in the outer wall of the estate. According to Hugh, there had originally been an icehouse nearby, and decades before, when the castle had been a mansion, servants would have used the tunnel to get there while keeping out of the rain. 

"Thanks for showing me that passage," Samantha said, once they were safely in the road. "And for coming with me." 

"It's the least I could do. It's a pity we couldn't help your friend." 

"Well, maybe we can. Let's get something to eat and then I'll come up with something." 

"What, all by yourself?" 

Samantha grinned. "I'm just that good." 

"You wouldn't think it, to look at you." 

"I know what you mean." Samantha ran her hands through her hair, and looked ruefully at the crop of cobwebs she'd retrieved. "Doesn't exactly make me look like the height of fashion, does it? Mind you, I think I blew my chances of that the moment I showed up on your doorstep this morning all over mud. I'm surprised you didn't send me packing there and then." 

"You were in trouble, Sam. Anyone could see that." 

"Yeah, I was. And I was in a ditch, too, for most of the night." 

"I think it was lucky you did end up in that ditch. Otherwise they'd have been sure to spot you too, wouldn't they?" 

"Wouldn't be surprised. Anyway, we've got more important stuff to think of." 

"Well, let's think of it, then." He gave her a smile. "Should be easy for you, if you really are that good." 

"Right, then. We've got aliens in the castle. They've got some sort of flying machine, probably the spaceship they came in. Anyone who finds them, they take control of them somehow and make them work for them." 

"You're sure about all this aliens business?" 

"Positive. And now and again they take their spaceship out and go to dig up a field and perhaps nick a couple of sheep. Now why would they do that?" 

"Didn't your friend say she was doing something with minerals?" 

"Yeah. So they're digging for something. Is there anything worth digging for round here?" 

"The good slate's up in the mountains. Or was: it's mostly been mined out by now. And the copper. And you couldn't do much mining with a dozen or so people and shovels. You'd be needing high explosives." 

"So why don't they go into the mountains?" Samantha fell silent briefly. "I wonder if they can't. Perhaps that's as far as their ship can go at the moment. And they need all these minerals and stuff to fix it." 

"And the sheep?" 

"Well, they need to eat, don't they? Or perhaps they want them for the chemicals as well. Something that builds up in their bones or their livers." 

Hugh's face was grim. "Of course, that would apply to people as well." 

"Yeah. They've kept them alive for now, but what happens when they don't want any more minerals dug up?" 

"Or when they've worked them to death." 

Samantha paused briefly, then changed the subject. "I wonder if that's why they're hiding out here, too? Park their ship in the woods in the daytime, so people don't see it. I reckon they're afraid of being found. If they were any good they'd be landing outside Buckingham Palace and saying 'take me to your leader', not skulking round some mingy village in the back of beyond– Sorry, I didn't mean your village isn't a nice place, but..." 

"Then I shall try to forget that remark," Hugh said solemnly. 

*

By the time they parted, Samantha found herself in further debt to Hugh. She'd needed to make a trunk call, and since her muddy clothes ruled out any possibility of being allowed into Hugh's mother's house, she'd had to use a public telephone box. Consequently, Hugh had ended up subsidising her to the tune of several shillings. Watching her from outside the booth, he couldn't make out her actual words, but from the tone of her voice he guessed that she was browbeating her way through one operator after another. 

"Thanks for that," she said, on finally emerging. "Can you do something else for me?" 

"What?" 

"I'm going back to the castle now. On my own." 

"You're crazy, girl!" 

"Listen. I reckon I know what these aliens are up to. So I'm gonna go and give them what for." 

"Then they'll just enslave you like Blodwen and the others, won't they?" 

"That's where you come in. Got something I can write on, and a pen?" 

He silently handed her the requisite items. 

"Thanks." She scribbled briefly. "If I don't come back in an hour's time, or I do come back but I've gone like Jean, you call this number and tell them 'Pegasus'. Got that?" 

"'Pegasus.'" 

"Thanks, wack. You're a star." She made to hug him, but realised that in her current state that might not be well received. "Ta-ra for now." 

Hugh shook his head. "There's no stopping you, is there?" he said. "Are all the girls like you, where you come from?" 

"Oh no." Samantha blew him a kiss. "Ask any of my mates, and they'll tell you I'm the quiet one." 

And leaving Hugh with that terrifying thought, she set off for the castle again. 


	6. Chapter 6

The next interruption to Jean's mineralogical labours came with the lunch break. One of the soldiers had appeared in the doorway; her three colleagues downed tools at once. 

"It's time for our food," Blodwen explained to Jean. 

Accompanied by two of the soldiers, they walked through the outbuildings to the courtyard where, the previous day, the sergeant had warned Jean and Samantha to leave well alone. More of the soldiers were standing there, in the 'at ease' posture. 

For perhaps half a minute, the assembled workers and soldiers stood there, waiting, in blissful calm. Then the same sergeant as before appeared from the direction of the spaceship, wheeling a trolley, on which could be seen a large soup pot and a stack of metal bowls. 

The sergeant's route took him close to one of the crumbling walls of the castle. As he passed this point, Samantha's voice suddenly echoed around the courtyard, coming from somewhere near the top of the wall. 

"Look out!" was all she shouted. 

He looked up, and jumped back. A lump of stone crashed down onto the trolley, sending its contents flying in a chaos of sparks, broken metal and flattened bowls. The soup pot landed on its side, spewing grey pellets across the ground. 

"Get her!" the sergeant snarled. 

The soldiers who'd been waiting drew their weapons and looked this way and that for a target. Various scrambling noises were heard from inside the ruin, but there was no sign of a target until, a little later, a grubby handkerchief waved at them from the edge of a rift in the building that had once been a window. 

"I surrender," Samantha's voice called. "D'you promise not to shoot me?" 

"Come out with your hands in the air," the sergeant replied. 

"I've got something important to say. I want to talk to whoever's in charge." 

The sergeant glanced over his shoulder. "Wilkins. Get the commander." 

One of the soldiers hurried away. He turned his attention back to the window where the handkerchief had waved. 

"Come out now," he said. "Or I'll order my men to fire." 

A diminutive, pale, dirt-streaked figure appeared in the window frame, and slowly climbed out, keeping her hands in plain view. Two soldiers closed in on her from either side, and grasped her by the arms. 

"Here I am," she said. "Where's the boss?" 

"They're on their way. You're in a lot of trouble, young woman." 

"Not the only one," Samantha replied defiantly. 

Before she could expand on her theme, the soldier who'd been sent to summon those in charge returned. The yellow alien that had spoken to Jean before was in attendance, the same cylindrical gadget as before in its hand; so was another one, wearing a purple mesh rather than a red one, and empty-handed. 

The first alien manipulated the gadget. "Speak," it said. 

Samantha tossed her head. "Listen here, wack," she said. "This is important. I'm the acting Ambassador for Mankind, and I'm here to tell you you're in a whole load of trouble." 

Jean gasped at the disrespect being shown to her masters. But somewhere at the back of her mind, she couldn't help feeling a sneaking admiration for Samantha. 

"You're trespassing on our planet, nicking our minerals and our livestock, and kidnapping and enslaving our people. And it's no good you sneaking around and hiding in the woods. We know where you are and we're giving you one chance. Let all these people go, unharmed. Now." 

The aliens considered her, silently. So did Jean and the other human slaves. 

"If you do," she continued, "we'll let you go back home. If your ship's broken, let us know and we can see about getting you some help. Otherwise, you'll die." 

Silence again. 

"You think I'm bluffing, don't you? Well, I'm not. And don't think you can just kill me. You ever heard of the Intrusion Countermeasures Group? Well, if they don't hear that I'm all right in the next half hour, they're gonna drop every bomb they've got on this place. And everyone here gets blown to bits. Got that?" 

One of the aliens emitted a sequence of clicks and screeches. A moment later, the other one replied in kind. The discussion, if such it was, was brief. 

"Come – with – us," the translation device said. 

Before Samantha could answer, the alien who wasn't holding the device had darted forward, snatched her from her guards, lifted her off the ground, and carried her away, held prisoner in three of its four arms. It didn't cover her mouth, so the watching slaves were treated to an extended discourse on the alien's lack of respect for diplomatic conventions and how much Samantha was looking forward to seeing it blown into tiny little pieces. 

The other alien, the one holding the translation device, scuttled over to where the humans were lined up. 

"Eat – food," it said, gesturing to where the pellets had been spilled. Everyone, Jean included, hurried over to the spot, trying to retrieve and share out those pellets that were still in the pot, or that hadn't been trampled underfoot or lost in the uneven surface of the courtyard. Jean ended up with a handful or so of the pellets, in a badly-dented bowl, with a bent spoon. But after contemplating them in silence, she handed the bowl to Blodwen, who had eagerly finished her own portion and still looked famished. 

"Here," she said. "I'm not hungry." 

Something was nagging at her mind, she realised. The aliens hadn't taken Samantha's threats of action seriously. But the words 'Intrusion Countermeasures Group' struck a chord in her memory. She'd met them before, somewhere that she couldn't remember properly at the moment. She was sure, though, that they weren't the sort of people you mentioned lightly. 

But it was all going to be fine, other parts of her mind assured her. The aliens would give Samantha some of those nice pellets, like they'd given Jean, and then she'd come and work with Jean and everything would be all right. 

She was halfway back to the minerals hut before she realised that nothing would be all right. The ICMG were going to come here and blow everything up. If Samantha was still there then, she'd be killed. And Jean realised that however important her work was to her, it was even more important that Samantha shouldn't be killed. 

*

Back in the minerals hut, she tried to balance the conflicting demands of duty to her masters and concern for Samantha's safety. She soon hit upon a solution. Throughout the day they'd been filling small plastic jars with the mineral dust that was the result of their efforts, and periodically one of the men, usually Dai, would take the full containers away and return with empty ones. 

"Why don't I take those?" she suggested, the next time he approached the shelf. 

"That'd be helpful, Miss Rock. Thank you." 

Jean picked up the tray of jars. "Where do I take it?" 

"To that ship of theirs. Go in through the hatch, and take the second left. There's a machine there, with a lot of holes in the side. You empty each jar into the right hole – they've all got labels." 

"Seems simple enough," Jean said. 

The walk to the ship was straightforward, since it was satisfying both of Jean's compulsions. Once she was inside, though, she retraced her footsteps to the cell where she'd been held. It took a supreme effort of will not to turn left where she was supposed to deliver the jars; the force tugging at her was almost physical. 

In the cell, the sheet of glass, or force field, or whatever it was, was in place. From her side, at least, it was transparent. Samantha was on the far side, sitting against the wall as Jean had, staring listlessly at her boots. 

Jean cleared her throat. "Samantha?" she called, uncertainly. 

"Who's there?" Samantha asked, looking up. 

"It's me. Jean Rock." 

"Oh." Samantha looked disappointed again. "You're one of them, now, aren't you?" 

"I..." Jean shook her head. "I don't know who I am, any more. But I know you've got to get away from here. Far away. Before everything gets blown up." 

"I can't, can I? Don't know if you've noticed, with your head in the clouds and everything, but I'm locked in here with no door." 

Jean glanced about helplessly for any sort of handle, control panel or locking mechanism that would enable her to open the divider and release Samantha. Nothing was apparent. It seemed that there was no way of saving Samantha's life: that being so, she really shouldn't delay the other task she'd come here for. 

"I've got to go now," she said. "Goodbye." 

"Don't go!" Samantha shouted, her voice betraying panic for the first time. "I don't want to die on my own! Jean!" 

Jean walked calmly away. 


	7. Chapter 7

Samantha hoped that no-one had been watching her for the last few minutes. Since Jean had seemingly abandoned her, she'd shouted until she was hoarse, pleading for her, or anyone else in earshot, to come back. Then, when she'd come to the conclusion that she'd been abandoned, self-pity had overcome her, and she'd broken down in tears. 

Now, the mood had passed. She rose to her feet and paced to and fro, listening for any noises from the outside world. If she was any judge of time, and if Hugh had kept his word, the aircraft should be on their way by now. 

A worrying thought struck her. If her guess was wrong, and this ship wasn't as crippled as she'd deduced, then they might have defences that could shrug off the bombing. If so, she could just have lured the pilots of those planes to their deaths. 

In the distance, she heard the sound of jet engines, approaching rapidly. She listened, tensely, as the aeroplane thundered overhead. For a moment the sound of its engines was drowned out by a loud detonation, the overhead lights flickered, and the room shuddered; then she heard the jet engines again, receding. It hadn't been shot down, then. Perhaps she was right about the state of this ship. That was a comfort, if only a small one, considering she was going to be destroyed with it. 

Abruptly, the lights went out. Samantha whirled around, trying to make out what had happened, but for a few seconds she couldn't see anything except afterimages. Then, in the direction where the mirrored wall had been, she made out the dim outline of a doorway. She made for it, at a run, emerging in a narrow corridor, lit by distant daylight. 

Making for the light, she rounded a corner, and collided head-on with Jean. 

"You've escaped!" Jean gasped. 

"Really? I hadn't noticed." Samantha grabbed her by the arm. "Look, I don't know where you've left your brain today, but we need to get out of here. And you're going the wrong way." 

"I wanted to see if I'd managed to open the cell door and let you out." 

"That was you?" 

"When I put the minerals in the machine, I mixed them up on purpose. I thought it might do something." 

"Looks like it did." Samantha half-pushed, half-dragged Jean down the ramp. "Sure you aren't taking me back to your alien friends?" 

"They didn't give me any instructions regarding you." 

"Halt," said the translator voice. 

Samantha spun round. The alien who'd imprisoned her was standing in the doorway of the ship, a weapon in one claw, the translation gadget in another. 

"Restrain," it said. 

Jean caught hold of Samantha. The alien raised its weapon, until its front eye was covered by an elaborate disc on top of the barrel – presumably a gunsight. As its claw tightened on the trigger, the roar of jet engines could be heard again overhead. The alien glanced up, momentarily distracted. Samantha threw all her weight backwards. She and Jean tumbled to the ground together; a bright beam of light passed over them. 

_I'm a sitting duck now,_ Samantha realised. But before the alien could change its aim, the second bomb hit, somewhere on the far side of the spaceship. If there had been any defences, Jean's act of sabotage had put them out of commission; the ground heaved with the explosion, the sky above filled with dark smoke, and a rain of debris fell on Samantha and Jean. 

Samantha dragged herself free of Jean's grasp, and cautiously looked up. The explosion had thrown the alien some distance from the ship; it was lying among the fallen logs, its body shattered and motionless. The ship itself appeared to be on fire. Reddish-yellow light was flickering inside the hatch, and while the side facing them still looked intact, the column of black smoke rising from the far side suggested that the bomb had hit there. 

"We need to get out of here!" Samantha shouted, and pointed in the direction of the castle ruins. 

Jean nodded obediently, and the two set off, jumping from fallen log to fallen log, pushing their way through tangled branches. The heat of the fire on their backs was increasing, and now and again the ground shook with secondary explosions. 

Once past the fallen trees and among the castle outbuildings, Samantha brought Jean to a halt. 

"We need to get everyone out of here," she said. "Do you know how many people there are?" 

"Fourteen. Me, three civilians, ten soldiers." 

"When did you work that out?" 

"I counted. In the courtyard. Just before you showed up." 

Samantha waved her hand in front of Jean's face. "Dunno what they've done to you," she said. "But it's nice to know you've still got at least some of your marbles." 

"Why are you so insistent that anyone's done anything to me?" 

"Look, it's not exactly hard to spot. I bet it was those pellets they were making you eat." 

"Oh, but it couldn't be. They were delicious." 

"'Course they were. Anyway, we need to get everyone out of here. Think you can do that on your own?" 

"Yes." 

"Then do it." 

Jean nodded and hurried away. 

*

By the time the third bomb was dropped, Samantha had come across four of the soldiers; except at mealtimes, they seemed to spend most of their time patrolling the area, making sure intruders didn't get in. In which case, they hadn't done so well, since she'd been able to come and go as she wished. If they'd known about the tunnel, things would have been different, of course. 

Each of the soldiers had been in the same blank-eyed trance as Jean, and had obediently made for the exit at Samantha's suggestion. She supposed that they'd been ordered to defend the alien ship; now it had been destroyed, they didn't have a clue what to do next. Whatever the aliens had given them, it made them totally suggestible. 

She was still searching for the other soldiers when the third bomb hit. At first, it was no different from the others. Jet engines thundered overhead, and a massive delta-winged shape momentarily blotted out the sun. Something black fell from the bomber, disappearing from view behind the ruins of the castle. 

This time, the explosion just went on and on, getting bigger and bigger. The light behind the castle ruins grew until the structure was a silhouette against a painfully bright light. The ground shuddered – once, twice, and then moved with a sudden jolt that threw Samantha to the ground. As she looked up, she saw the castle's last tower dissolving in cascades of masonry and rubble, among a chorus of toppling walls. Clouds of dust rose into the sky, dimming the intense light beyond. And the air was filled with a continuous, drumming roar. 

As the light and sound of the explosion faded, the dust cloud from the fall of the tower rolled over Samantha. She climbed to her feet, coughing and spluttering, her eyes streaming. In the haze, there was no way of seeing where she was going. She set off at random, bumped into something, tried again. Jagged walls loomed at her out of a grey mist. Rubble crunched underfoot. 

In the end, Samantha had to wait until at least some of the dust settled: an activity for which, by temperament, she was singularly unsuited. But since she had no choice, she sat down amid the devastation and forced herself not to move until she could see at least ten yards. Once that milestone had been reached, she tried to get her bearings. By the look of things, she was sitting on what had until recently been the back wall of the main range, and was now a heap of shattered bricks. And if so, the courtyard had to be that way. 

She set off, the dust thinning as she got further from the site of the explosion. Compared to what the remains of the castle had suffered, the outbuildings had got off lightly, with comparatively minor damage to their roofs. Her spirits rose as she strolled down the path that led to the hut where, that morning, she'd found Jean. Everything from now on ought to be simple. 

Even as she thought it, a familiar yellow, many-limbed figure stepped out of a clump of trees and advanced on her. 

Samantha turned to run, but found herself once more grasped by thin, bony limbs and lifted off the ground. Without the translator gadget, the creature couldn't use words, but she understood its purpose clearly enough. With its ship destroyed, it was trapped here. All it could want was revenge. 

"Let me go!" she shouted, vainly kicking and struggling. The alien had advantages of height, strength, and number of limbs; she wasn't getting anywhere. "Help!" 

She felt clawed fingers clamp around her head, holding it rigid. Another hand appeared in front of her, the claws pointed straight at her eyes. The alien's intentions were all too clear. 

"NO!" Samantha screamed, at the top of her voice. 

Her only answer was a rattle from within the creature's body, that probably was their equivalent of an evil laugh. Slowly, sadistically, it brought its hand closer, until the claws were too close for Samantha to see clearly. She jerked desperately, but the alien's grip was like iron. Whatever she tried, there was no way she'd be able to keep the claws from being plunged into her eyes. 


	8. Chapter 8

A rifle shot sounded. Instead of the blinding agony Samantha had been expecting, something warm splattered against her cheek. The arms that had been holding her in their vice-like grip convulsed, throwing her aside. 

Dizzy and bruised, she tried to sit up. She could hear running footsteps, and a grey, ghostlike figure bent over her. It was the sergeant from yesterday, she realised, covered in dust, as she herself was, from the collapse of the castle. 

"Are you all right, miss?" he asked. 

"I think so." Samantha, after one or two false starts, managed to get up. The creature was lying a few yards away, its head shattered. Bits of yellow-orange goo, presumably the alien's brains, were spread over the immediate surroundings. The right-hand side of her face felt sticky, and as she looked down at herself she realised that a lot of dead alien had ended up on her. 

"Thanks," she said, swaying on her feet and trying not to be sick at the thought. "Look, I don't want to sound ungrateful, but how did you do that? Weren't you supposed to be doing what those things told you?" 

"Those things told us to guard the perimeter, miss," the sergeant said. "That's what we did. They didn't say anything about helping them torture civilians. And after that explosion, well, I don't reckon there's much of a perimeter left to guard." 

Samantha risked a quick glance at the dead alien, and nearly lost her lunch. 

"Let's get out of here," she said. 

"Yes, miss." 

They edged past the remains of the alien, and continued along the path. 

"When you caught us here yesterday, why didn't you take us prisoner there and then?" Samantha asked. "I mean, if those guys wanted slaves." 

"Orders didn't say, miss. We used our discretion." 

"So when you warned us off, you were really trying to save us from those things? That's really clever." 

"Thank you, miss." 

*

Jean was waiting nervously with the other erstwhile slaves by one of the parked vehicles when the two dust-covered figures appeared. 

"What happened to you?" she asked, as Samantha came up to her. "I heard a shot." 

"Turned out one of those creatures wasn't in the ship when it blew up," Samantha said. "And it had some ideas about getting its own back by sticking its claws in my eyes. If Sergeant Rowlands hadn't turned up when he did I wouldn't be looking at you now." 

"Are you all right?" Jean asked with concern. 

"Pretty much. Apart from all this muck and alien brains all over me. What about you? Can you think straight yet?" 

"I'm not sure. I can remember about you and Jamie and the Doctor, now. And now the aliens have gone I know they don't need minerals any more, so I don't feel compelled to collect them. But I can't think of anything to do. My mind's just a blank." 

"But you're getting better?" 

"Oh, yes. Just nothing like normal, yet. I don't know how long whatever they gave me takes to wear off." 

"I expect you'll be all right by morning. Probably had to have it in your food each day." 

"That's a good point. I didn't eat anything at lunchtime. Maybe that means it's wearing off already. I do hope it isn't permanent." 

"Yeah, that could be awkward. Having to do whatever anyone tells you." A grin spread across her face. "Jean, put your hands on your head." 

"Oh, don't–" Jean broke off, realising she'd obeyed without even thinking. "Samantha. Please don't do that again." 

"Well, I'll try not to. But having you do whatever I say..." She glanced at the other soldiers and villagers. "They would, too. It's really tempting." 

"I think we'd have been safer with the aliens." 

"Say that again and I'll tell you to do twenty push-ups." Samantha's grin was positively wicked. "Don't think I won't abuse my power, 'cos I definitely would." 

*

After the day of adventure, intrigue, brainwashing, and explosions, the following morning was tame by comparison. Jean and Samantha had each been interviewed by Group-Captain Gilmore of the Intrusion Countermeasures Group, who'd turned up either very late at night or very early in the morning. He'd remembered both of them from the Gatwick incident, given them the same warning as before about sharing their story with anybody, and once again required them to sign the Official Secrets Act. 

Once they were finished with the military, they'd walked into the village to say goodbye to Hugh. Blodwen had also been present, still looking fragile after her ordeal, and they'd all shared affectionate farewells. Then the two visitors walked slowly back to the campsite. 

"Put your hands on your head," Samantha said, experimentally. 

Jean shook her head. "It's worn off. For which I'm profoundly grateful, even if you didn't carry out any of your threats to make me embarrass myself." 

"Don't worry, I was kidding. Well, probably." 

"The Group-Captain seemed to think we handled the whole thing quite well." 

"I don't." Samantha looked down at her feet. "Not like the Doctor could. When he talked to those Chameleons, they went away. They didn't all end up dead." 

"You know it wasn't as simple as that. We had to kill one of the Chameleons in cold blood before they'd listen." 

"Yeah, I suppose. But this time it's my fault. Perhaps if I hadn't stuck my nose in, those two would've fixed their ship and let everyone go home." 

"Or maybe they'd have rendered us down for the phosphorous in our bodies. Speaking as one of the people they enslaved, I'm very glad you did stick your nose in." 

They walked on in silence for a little. 

"Do you want me to take you back home now?" Jean asked. "We've done what we came for." 

"What, like this?" Samantha asked. She'd spent a good part of the previous evening getting cleaned up, and today had insisted on wearing her minidress so that Hugh could see how good she could look, when there weren't more pressing matters at hand. But it wasn't the state of her clothes or hair that was disturbing her. Every time she'd looked in the mirror her face had been pale and haggard. 

"I look a complete wreck," she said, to amplify her point. 

"Nonsense. Compared to me you just look like you've had a late night – which you did, of course. I'm the wreck." 

"Yeah, but you aren't gonna have to put up with Brian making fun of you. Just imagine if he saw me like this. 'Oh, so much for Miss Adventure. Falls in a ditch and comes running home early.' He'd never let me hear the end of it." 

"I'm sure you'll give as good as you get." 

"I'm still not giving up so soon." She gave Jean a stubborn look. "I said I was going on a camping holiday with you and that's what I'm doing. Right?" 

"Right." Jean laughed. "The rest of the week is our own. What sort of trouble do you want to get us into this time?" 

"I'll think of something," Samantha said firmly. "Trust me." 


End file.
